


A Long, Slow Nervous Breakdown

by thebratqueen



Series: Post Ep 4 Fics [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, References to Canon violence, post episode 4, vigilante ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebratqueen/pseuds/thebratqueen
Summary: Bruce felt about as good as Victor had looked the last time Bruce had seen him.





	A Long, Slow Nervous Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to KTNB for the beta. Spoilers through episode 4. This is ENTIRELY TELLTALE'S FAULT.

Bruce felt sick. His head throbbed. His mouth tasted of smoke, gunpowder, and metal. His stomach churned in a way he'd call indigestion if not for how, much like the last time he'd _slept_ , he couldn't remember when he'd eaten anything more substantial than a bite from an energy bar.

Actually he couldn't remember the last time he'd done _that_ either.

Point being, combine it all together and Bruce felt about as good as Victor had looked the last time Bruce had seen him.

Hell, maybe _Bruce_ was the one coming down with a disease.

Regardless, he had to move. Bad enough he'd had the Agency to deal with on the bridge, still trying to subdue him after John had left. Bruce didn't care for how long it had taken him to fight his way through that particular crowd, not the least of which was due to how he wasn't in the suit. He could only hope John's smoke bomb had provided enough cover from the news helicopters that Bruce's rapidly disintegrating secret identity wasn't spreading wider than the last time Avesta had written an interoffice memo.

Protecting _John_ he'd been fine with. Not that Bruce would call it pleasure. Taking pleasure in other people's pain was what criminals did, what his _father_ did. But Bruce wouldn't deny a sense of satisfaction at being able to grab each and every one of the agents who had tried to _(kill)_ take John down and throw their _(guns, they had aimed at John with GUNS)_ weapons away.

The Agency attacking John hadn't been just. Hadn't been right. John had saved Gotham. He deserved being saved in return.

Assuming Bruce could find him.

Once Bruce had escaped the bridge he'd gotten into his car and sped into the city. Staying anywhere near Waller and her people was impossible. Canvassing the water was a no go. The Agency was already on it, desperate to get the one sample of the virus back. If John had survi - if John had _escaped_ the water, Bruce had to trust he'd been smart and clever enough to get away without being seen. Get away, and get _safe_. Or at least somewhere that passed for safe.

Bruce's phone blinked with messages from Alfred and Tiffany. He ignored them, though not without a pang of guilt. Alfred could handle it, Bruce knew. But this was Tiffany's first night with team Batman, so to speak, and it would be easier for her to say she had no idea where Bruce was or what he was doing if that was the truth. The two of them could talk later about how she wanted to handle run ins with authority. For now, keeping her in the dark was the best way Bruce knew to keep her safe if Waller or the GCPD came calling. He owed that much to Lucius, at least.

There weren't any messages from John. Bruce told himself that didn't mean anything.

He didn't drive directly to Old Five Points, much though everything inside of him was screaming to do so. He had to be sure he wasn't being followed. Instead he deliberately hit other landmarks: Wayne Tower, the Stacked Deck, a few blocks away from Bodhi Spa, to get on the radar of anyone keeping an eye out there. Then he went into his best stealth routine, changing routes, doubling back, taking advantage of traffic camera blind spots, until he was near the lair. He parked some distance away, setting the car into camouflage mode, but not before grabbing his belt out of the trunk and hiding it within a jacket he folded over his arm.

It wasn't as good as being in the suit, but it was better than nothing. And if - _when_ \- he found John, it was Bruce who needed to talk to him.

***

For the second time that day, Bruce slammed open the door to the lair. "John? _John?_ "

"Bruce!" The door to the Ha-Hacienda flew open and John came running out. "You're here!"

A wave of nausea hit Bruce and he had to shake his head to clear it. John was there. Bruce didn't realize how much he'd been denying the possibility of John being ( _dead)_ not there until now, when he had John in front of him _(alive, breathing, fine, not like Lucius, not like Al, not like -)_.

There were words. Bruce even thought about saying them. But he acted without thinking, dropping his coat and belt to the ground so he could grab John and take a look at him. Bruce's analytic mind quickly pieced together the details: John had gotten there before him, he'd had time to change into dry clothes but his hair was still wet and not from a shower. The blood from the _(attack, murder)_ had been washed away by the fall into the river but nothing else had been done. No care for possible wounds or damage or that damned black eye which made Bruce want to do things which weren't friendly.

"Uh, Bruce? Buddy?"

Bruce felt like he'd forgotten to breathe somewhere along there. He took a step back and saw John looking at him with confusion. "Sorry. I - you could have _died_ , John."

"Never!" A smile spread across John's face. Bruce realized he'd worried about never seeing that smile again. "Not with you there to protect me! You were great! Those agents didn't know what hit 'em! Literally!"

John giggled and it was Bruce's turn to be confused. "Protect? I mean yes, I wasn't going to let them -" _(kill)_ "- hurt you. But you _jumped_ off a _bridge_."

John stared at him as though waiting for Bruce to say more. When nothing came, John shrugged. "Well sure."

Bruce was losing what little grip on control he had. "People commit _suicide_ that way!"

"What?" John's eyes flew open and he clapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh! Oh! Oh Bruce, no! Buddy, no! I wasn't trying anything like that! I was leaving dramatically, like - "

John held his hands together like wings, arcing them through the air. "Whoosh! Like Batman!"

Bruce facepalmed. He pressed his hand into his forehead as hard as he could and wondered if it would help make the world around him stop twisting. "I have a _cape_ , John. It helps me _glide_. I don't jump off of bridges or buildings _randomly_."

"Oh." John's hands fell back to his sides as he took that in. In a moment his smile was back. "One more thing for me to learn about being a hero! Do you think I should take notes?"

"Maybe. If you want to. I'll teach you." The last part came out before Bruce realized it. He hadn't spent any time thinking about whether he would teach John about any of this. He was pretty sure if he had the answer would've been no.

He'd told John no sometimes, hadn't he? Not that Bruce could remember any specific moment of having done so.

He needed to get control of himself and the situation. He motioned John towards one of the nearby crates. "Sit."

"That sounded stern," John said. He sat, his shoulders slumped. When he spoke, he made his voice sound stiff. "Is this when we have that 'very serious talk'?"

"It's - " Bruce paused from where he'd been picking up his belt. This so wasn't the point but - "That sounds _nothing_ like me, you know that, right?"

"Bruce." John gave him a pitying look. "Nobody _thinks_ they sound the way _actually_ do. It's okay. Your voice is _fine_ , I promise."

Bruce's stomach twitched again. He ignored it. He brought the belt over to John and took a seat on the crate beside him. He angled himself so they faced each other. Bruce tried not to stare at John's black eye. "This is when we do first aid. But if you're feeling up for that talk, yeah. Let's have it."

"I'm pretty sure I'm fine," John said. "I mean I didn't get hurt in the fall. And my head's clear enough."

In spite of his words, John remained curled in on himself. His hands tightened, one holding the other as he cradled them close to his chest. He didn't make eye contact. Bruce felt the tension radiating off of John as though it was his own.

If Bruce closed his eyes he could picture the funhouse. He could see John there _(covered in blood)_ , surrounded by _(people he'd murdered, people who'd tried to kill him)_ bodies. If Bruce paused, if he focused, he was pretty sure he could recreate the scene in its entirety, including every word John had babbled to the dead agents before Bruce had walked in. He could picture it, and try to study it.

Or Bruce could've examined the scene at the time. Used his contacts, his phone, hell his _brain_.

Or he could've gone back after, with the suit. Before he'd come here. Use every bit of technology at his disposal to analyze the crime scene down to the last atom of evidence. Link the pieces together.

Know without any doubt who had attacked first. Who'd grabbed a gun first.

If it had been murder or self-defense.

He could still do that now. Odds were good the Agency was more focused on finding the virus than they were on where those agents had gone to. The scene was probably undisturbed. There was nothing stopping Bruce from going back there and getting concrete answers.

Bruce stayed where he was.

"Give me your hand," Bruce said. Realizing how that sounded, he added, "Please?"

John looked at him sideways. He didn't turn his head but slowly released his grip and held his right hand out for Bruce to take.

Bruce pulled John's hand towards him and held it up so he could see it better in the light. He looked for any cuts or scrapes. Though none were readily apparent, he took an antiseptic wipe out of a pouch on his belt and ran it over John's skin. He took his time, trying to project a calm neither he nor John were currently feeling.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"You were covered in blood," Bruce said. He moved on to John's wrist, still holding John's hand to help position John's arm as needed. "We have to be careful of cross-contamination, even from a little nick."

Right hand done, Bruce discarded the first wipe and got a fresh one to use on John's left hand. John gave his hand over more easily this time. Bruce held it, his touch lingering on John's pinky finger.

"I owe you an apology, John," he said. He took John's look of surprise as encouragement and kept going. "We promised not to keep secrets from each other and I kept a lot from you. There were things I could have been more honest about. I'd like to fix that now."

"You don't have to hide anything from _me_ ," John said. He winked at Bruce. "No masks needed here, Bats."

"All right," Bruce said. Even though the idea of being completely honest terrified him more than - _almost_ more than anything that had happened that day. "And same for you in return. If there's anything you've been worried about telling me, it's okay. I want to hear it."

John looked less than convinced this time, but he nodded. "Okay."

Bruce weighed several options on where to begin and decided to start with the easier topics. "The Agency knows my identity. Avesta figured it out. They were blackmailing me to help them."

John's face went from surprised, to thoughtful, to twisted in anger. "Avesta? You mean the one - "

"I introduced you to earlier, yeah." John's left hand and wrist were more than taken care of by now but Bruce didn't stop running his fingers over them in a search for cuts that weren't there.

"But that's just - " John's hands shook. "You don't _do_ that to people! You _don't share_ other people's _secrets_!"

"I agree," Bruce said. He looked up at John. He wondered if the anger he saw there was anything like what the agents had seen before they died. Was this John about to lose control, or -

\- or was it the guy you wanted around when your back was against the wall?

"I _kept_ your secret, Bruce!" John said. He tugged on Bruce's hand, holding it tight enough that Bruce felt an ache. "I didn't even tell _you_ I knew your secret, that's how _secret_ it was! Well, I mean I _did_ tell you, but only when we had to be really, _really_ honest with each other. Only because I thought I was _losing_ you! Otherwise I would have _never_ \- "

And there was the world tilting again. Someone knowing his secret. Protecting it, protecting _him_. Sure there were people who knew and did what they could, but people like Al _(unconscious, sick),_ Lucius _(dead_ ), or Selina _(always with a catch)_ . Not someone who did it without being asked _and_ who could hold their own. Not someone who could save the city, fight, _survive_.

Bruce looked at John. He couldn't stop staring at his black eye. That reminder, that _mark_ from Harley.

"Do we - never mind, stupid question." Bruce stood and headed towards the stairs.

John's hand lingered in the air from where Bruce had let it go. "What - uh - okay. You know they say there's no such thing as a stupid question?"

"I was about to ask if we had any ice."

John gave a surprised bark of laughter which fell into giggles. "O - okay. Not one of your better ones, admittedly."

Bruce let John have his moment. It was nice hearing him laugh out of humor and not nerves, even if it was at Bruce's expense. Besides, John had earned more than a few things at Bruce's expense. Laughter was the kindest.

"Oh! Careful," John said, once he caught his breath and saw Bruce moving Victor's equipment around. "I put the virus in the box the blood samples were in, then hid the box over there. Figured if it was safe enough for Riddler's blood, yanno?"

Bruce blinked. Right. The virus. Which he hadn't even asked about or thought of since he'd arrived. Because he'd been so focused on John -

\- or had he simply trusted John would take care of it?

"That was smart," Bruce said, since he would've done much the same given John's resources. He checked the box to make sure the virus was securely sealed and frozen inside. Then he used an abandoned water bottle to wet his handkerchief and the lightest possible setting of one of Victor's toys to cool it. Only when he turned to face John again did Bruce realize the other thing he'd forgotten about. " _Shit_."

"What?"

Bruce could hear the hum of refrigeration from the room behind him. "Nora's still here, isn't she?"

"Oh." John rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Don't worry though. She's a great listener but she doesn't say much. If she's heard anything we've said she won't tell anyone."

Bruce wondered how often John had talked to Nora in order to decide she was a great listener. Surely never when Victor was around. Regardless, it painted a lonely picture John was at the center of.

Bruce came down the stairs and sat beside John again. "Hold still."

He could've given the handkerchief to John, but he held on to it, pressing it against John's bruised eye in what he hoped was a firm but gentle touch.

It was a way to remind John he wasn't alone.

Plus it kept that damn bruise covered.

"I'll have to figure out how to get Nora out of here," Bruce said, as though there hadn't been a pause in the conversation. "I promised Victor I'd take care of her if he was arrested."

"You actually meant that?" John looked surprised, or as much as he could with the handkerchief covering part of his face. A hint of bitterness crept into his voice. "It wasn't a lie for your cover?"

"I don't believe in hurting people who don't deserve it. Nora's an innocent." But Bruce knew John was asking about more than Nora. "Everyone deserves a chance to be helped. The Agency came to me - came to _blackmail_ me - after Riddler's death. Not before. When I saw you at Lucius's funeral? When I said I would meet your friends? That was me, John. I said it because I wanted to."

John didn't reply, but he tilted his head, looking up at Bruce with what Bruce thought - suspected - might be hope.

"I tried to help you, I did," Bruce said. "When I gave you advice? Whenever I had your back? That was true, John. Yes, I - _Batman_ might've stopped the Pact's plan earlier if he could have. I had to do things to keep my identity safe not just to protect me but the people I care about. I did things I didn't agree with. But nothing I did with you was false. I never lied to you about anything. Nothing except - "

Bruce stopped. He was holding the handkerchief in place by cupping John's cheek. Sometime while he'd been talking he'd moved closer, or John had. John was leaning into Bruce's hand and the look - hope? Forgiveness? Friendship? - he was giving Bruce was making Bruce's stomach flip over again.

"Except what?" John asked.

"I don't like killing," Bruce said. And that wasn't an answer, it was a subject change. It was a _life raft,_ though what Bruce was about to drown under he couldn't say.

John sighed, his shoulders slumping again. "Yeah, I _know_."

Bruce should put some distance between him and John, make this more professional. Mentor/mentee relationship, like John had suggested back on the roof of the GCPD. But Bruce didn't move so much as an inch. "At the carnival, whatever happened - and I am glad, _so glad_ I didn't find _your_ body when I got there - but killing can't be the the first resort. Or second. Or -"

Wait.

"You _know_?" Bruce asked.

"Uh, yeah?" John replied. He put his hand over Bruce's, moving it down so he could look Bruce in the eyes. "Why do you think I was freaking out so much? If you _liked_ killing I wouldn't have been worried about upsetting you. I would've been all 'Hey, buddy! Look at all the corpses! Plus you'll never guess the _hilarious_ sound that came out of that jerk over there when I punctured his lung! _'_ I _knew_ it wouldn't make you happy. Well, also I didn't know if you'd sent the agents to kill me, which was an extra kick in some already fragile trust issues on top of what at that point hadn't been my best ever day. But I know you didn't send them! You know, _now_."

"I didn't," Bruce said, in case John needed to hear it again. There was so much to unpack in John's words, not the least of which was - self-defense or no - John's delight in the dead bodies. It matched John's joy when he'd set off the bombs at the bridge. A love of destruction without any apparent care for who got hurt. "You say 'at that point' it wasn't a good day. What made today better?"

"Are you sure _your_ head is okay?" John asked. He laughed, as though he'd told a joke. "Us! You and me! The teamwork! Saving the day! I had no idea playing hero was such a _rush_! And doing it with _you_ , and _Batman_ , and you _are_ Batman! How is that not the best thing _ever_?"

"So it was that?" Bruce asked. He tried to keep his voice neutral. "Not the explosion?"

"Well that was fun too, don't get me wrong," John said. He laughed again. "Oh boy, the looks on their faces when those bombs went off! Did you see them?"

"No," Bruce said, flatly. "Because one of those bombs was by _me_."

John's laughter stuttered to a stop. "I - no. I wasn't going after you! I was going after those _rude agents_ who - "

"I was on the bridge _with_ them, John." Bruce knew he was risking losing John to a burst of John's defensive temper but he had to push this. "As were other people who were _innocent bystanders_. Do you understand?"

"Are you okay?" John grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and looked him over. "I - I mean besides the shirt which, again, sorry about the blood but - you didn't get hurt, did you? Please? You - you know I would never want to hurt _you_ , right? I'd hurt _myself_ before that happened."

"Don't do that." Bruce put his hands over John's in case John was getting any ideas. "And the point isn't whether I'm fine. The point is we have to be careful not to hurt people who don't deserve it."

"So _that's_ the secret." A slow smile spread over John's face. He gave Bruce's shoulders a squeeze. "I get it now! That dark side comes out, but only on the people who _deserve_ to be punished. _They're_ the ones we get _deliciously_ violent with. No wonder you like doing it so much."

Bruce shook his head, even as John's words sent a shiver up his spine. "That's not why I - "

"Maybe, but it doesn't _hurt_ , am I right?" John turned his head to meet Bruce's eyes. "No secrets, remember?"

Fine. Two could play this game of painful honesty. "Why don't you want to go to Arkham?"

John's face immediately shuttered. He drew back into himself. "I _knew_ you wanted to send me back there."

"Don't put words in my mouth," Bruce told him. "I'm trying to understand. You said it was home. You said you missed it. Now you don't want to go. What changed?"

"Everything!" John threw his hands up into the air. "I've started doing things! Figuring things out! Being _myself_ , which my _best friend_ told me was a good idea. If I go back then - then it'll be like all my time out here meant _nothing_."

"You saved the city," Bruce said. "That's not nothing."

"Not enough to keep you from sending me away," John muttered.

"I'm _not_ \- " Bruce sighed. He took John's hand again. "Look. We can pinky swear or I'll promise the stitch isn't broken or _whatever_. I'm not sending you away. Frankly that's the _problem_."

John frowned. He blinked. He looked at Bruce and blinked some more. "Why is that a _problem_? Friends are supposed to - "

"I don't want to be your _friend_ , John."

The shock registered on John's face the moment sickness registered in the pit of Bruce's stomach. He hadn't _meant_ it that way but he could tell John was _taking_ it that way by the hurt and betrayal that shaped John's features. Bruce felt like he did back on the bridge, seeing John tip over the edge and fall and Bruce couldn't get there fast enough to catch him.

He would've jumped after him, though, if he'd been given the chance.

So Bruce took the leap now. He made a decision that felt like back at the funhouse, the bridge, hell even in Arkham the first time John had held out his hand to him. A decision which felt like a point of no return, but which ultimately boiled down to the same question:

Did he trust John or not?

In which case Bruce knew the answer. He knew it to his very _core_.

Bruce moved forward and pressed a kiss to John's lips. It was a selfish act, he knew, considering John had only _just_ been dumped by Harley. It was the same part of him that had him sleep with Selina while she'd still been Harvey's girlfriend. Not just the lust, but the deeper need for connection, _understanding_.

Someone to see and accept the real him, as John had once wished for. Bruce had told himself he didn't _get_ that. He had a mission, that meant sacrificing ideas of companionship or partnership.

Or love.

But John kept _offering_ , and fitting in spaces Bruce hadn't realized were empty, and the thought of losing John forever had been so real today, so _palpable_ that Bruce's willpower could only do so much.

So he kissed John. Deeply. With all the feeling he'd been holding back not just from John but _himself_. All the need and denial and acceptance that they were, both of them, so utterly screwed up beyond what anyone else could understand but they knew each _other_ , perfectly. And Bruce didn't get this, he'd had twenty years of being reminded that fate and life didn't _like_ him enough to let him have nice things, but oh if he could have one thing, just _one_ thing it would be John. He _wanted_ it to be John. What little bits of John he'd had so far were amazing, intoxicating, made him _happy_ which wasn't even an emotion Bruce thought he _felt_ anymore, yet there it was.

And sending John away was - no. Not happening. Never happening. No matter what. Yes, channel the love of violence into good things and _no_ guns and _no_ killing please, do your best, John, please? But no. John needed to stay. Because Bruce needed him. _Desperately_ needed him. Anyone or thing trying to take John away would find Bruce or a Bat making it _extremely fucking clear_ how that was not going to happen. It was _never_ going to happen. Not ever. Bruce would've taken Waller's bullet _himself_ if he'd had to and -

"No, no," John whispered, and Bruce realized he'd been saying some if not all of this out loud. But he and John were still kissing. John was in his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around Bruce's chest, and he only moved his lips far enough away from Bruce as needed to get his words out. "No. Not acceptable. I'd consider that a rejection and you _know_ I have problems dealing with rejection, Bruce. So you can't die. Or - huh. You know, between your abandonment issues and my rejection issues I think this is pretty much a situation where we go out together or not at all. I'm not seeing how we'd be happy any other way."

"Let's try to avoid death as a concept, if we can," Bruce said. He took a moment to marvel at the feeling of John in his arms. The taste of him on his lips. "So… this would be something else, I hadn't been entirely honest about."

John giggled. He rested his forehead against Bruce's. "I may have been less than forthcoming in this area as well."

"You had Harley," Bruce said, trying to be generous. The urge lasted all of a second. "Who I hated for you, by the way. Every time I supported that? I was lying. I wanted you to be happy but - "

" - with you," John finished. His eyes were bright. He looked how Bruce felt, as though he couldn't believe any of this was real either. "Hmm. May have to figure out a way for you to make that up to me."

"Let me know if you come up with something." Bruce kissed him again. Slower. He took his time to savor it and find out what made John respond with pleased, happy, eager sounds.

There was still so much to do. The Agency, the virus, Alfred, Tiffany, Gordon, _Nora_ \- so much that needed to be taken care of.

But he had John. The stitch had only grown stronger. And for the first time in possibly ever, Bruce let himself feel something that might be called joy.


End file.
